


the just and the wise

by smithens



Series: ficlets, drabbles, & story collections [3]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Prompt Fic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: ...and if these two young men had gained a place in history, the one would have been the just man, the other the wise man.





	1. far

**Author's Note:**

> From 2015-2017, I shared my Enjolras/Combeferre short fanfiction on Ao3 in the work, to fight under the one, to march behind the other, which I ended with the goal of writing mostly in long-form.
> 
> Turns out I actually really like ficlets, so, we'll say that the just and the wise will at least be active for this year (2019). :-)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt from sureau:** 15\. things you said with too many miles between us

_…that I am here in Christchurch, speaking a foreign yet familiar tongue and yielding to foreign yet familiar habits, and you are so far in Araules: you whom I try to picture in my loneliest moments here, listening to the sound of the Channel and the coastal birds, in ennui, exhausted of English. I find always that I cannot imagine you there, in the town of your childhood, your countenance appears to me only as that of a man residing in the city and taking for his mother and father his nation. Is it only a lack of familiarity that I struggle to imagine you in a setting other than a bustling street in the Latin Quarter? Never have I been to Araules, for never have I been granted the chance, it is separated from my places of habit by many leagues and mountains. Is it nice there? Rural, isn’t it? - quite green, I should think, given the geography. Have you spent much time out of doors? Do you know that your little village upon its plateau would be a heaven on Earth for a geologist? There is igneous rock, there: basalt, clinkstone, trachyte, the like, remnants of those long-sleeping volcanoes and their eruptions. All land has a history, my dear Enjolras, and a bit upon that of yours was once published in a journal which I had the pleasure to read some time ago and have recalled as I think of you there in the mountains._

_Perhaps you do not appreciate talk of stones unless they are laid in the streets as pavement and we are removing them. No matter._

_Yes. Enjolras, you, metropolitan, are in the Midi, and I, French, am in England. We do not walk upon the same ground, and yet we each are in places irregular for us. How I yearn for you to be here with me: family is family, but members of mine do not provide stimulating conversation! no, they are not intellectual as you and I are._

_What of yours? You never speak of them. Do you like them? Do you like to be home? Do you think of me at all? Already I have penned that I think of you. How uncanny it is that we are so far from one another, the farthest I have been from you and the farthest I shall ever hope to be, and yet though I cannot picture you I feel your presence with me…_

The letter did not arrive until the day before his departure.

In the midst of arranging his valise, Enjolras read it, and read it again, and held in his other hand the coarse, fractured bit of rock he had found on a walk the previous morning, and which he would not have noticed lay in his path had he not been considering his dearest friend at the time.


	2. that break of day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt from oilan:** 14\. things you said after you kissed me

In an instant they were parted: a kiss with little matter, fleeting in its beginning and in its end, yet rich in spirit and in energy, in conjunction with the thrum which pulsed through his veins and countered that drumbeat from the exterior the barricade.

They each held, still, their rifles.

"You know that we are going to die," murmured Combeferre.

Enjolras nodded. Something welled in him, some unknowable thing which he could not apprehend and bring to his surface; he said nothing.

It seemed Combeferre understood. "I thought to myself: alas! there is a task unfinished. And so I have completed it," he said. "And so it is done, and soon we are each to be, and yet..." 

And yet. Enjolras closed his eyes and bowed his head. 

"And yet not all is through, Enjolras. Citizen. That break of day we recall and seek will come once more to France, and to civilization. It is only we shan't rise to see it in our time."

He felt Combeferre's hand upon his shoulder, its gentle clasp, and then its release. When he opened his eyes, they were no longer together, and so he adjusted his grip upon his carbine and went to the top of the barricade, thinking, imagining, believing, until he was overcome once more with that thing which had risen in him, and it came forth.


	3. a summit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt from withinadream:** 21\. things you said when we were on top of the world

"Do you ever feel," said Combeferre, contemplative, "as though you have reached a - a summit, that perhaps you are, in a certain moment, the most you will ever be?" 

"No," replied Enjolras, for he truthfully had never.

"Not even here, upon the Mountain," Combeferre mused, and he handed Enjolras a slice of pear, which was accepted.

It was early evening on a Sunday, and they were resting near the entrance of a public garden on the hill at Belleville: together they had spent their day in outright connivance. The day-trip's objective had been achieved in mid-morning, when they had arranged, with a society of tradesmen living in the town whom Enjolras had found to have a reassuring amount of strategical competence and an exceptional amount of republican fervor, the transfer of arms through the barrier into Paris. The negotiation was brief; the transport was to be collaborative and carried out in two weeks' time. If it were to go at all as their morning had, it would go better than any of them had expected prior to the meeting.

There was, Combeferre had persuaded him at eleven o' clock, nothing left to accomplish in the day. All they could do was wait and keep watch.

And so they had spent the remainder of it in something resembling leisure. They had accompanied the members of the Belleville society to a guinguette, where Combeferre had danced — sober — one round with a young woman; then they had passed the afternoon in a bookshop which seemed open only to take advantage of their business. (They had not, Enjolras thought, been too much of a bother; if nothing else, Combeferre's purchase of a sought-after old set of botanical volumes had likely funded the shopkeeper's next week's expenses.)

"No," continued Combeferre. "No, I suppose _you_ would not. I feel precisely like that now, however."

Enjolras watched him: the shake of his head as he returned to his thoughts, the lick of his lips after a bite of his pear.

"I suppose you will experience it one day, and it will be true. A peak in you. Like you can do no wrong, and no man can take anything from you. As in last July. I felt it, then. Alas! I suppose that is no apt example, for certainly it _was_ taken. Ripped out from beneath my feet. Well. In any case, it was Montaigne, wasn't it, who said of the teaching of Solon to Croesus — "

Pointedly, Enjolras took the second pear from their market sack and pierced it with his pocketknife.

Combeferre's smile brought warmth to his chest.

" — that, that, the felicity of life ought not be attributed to a man until he has _played the hardest act of his part_?"

"This is not the hardest act," said Enjolras, and he turned on their bench that he could press a piece of pear to Combeferre's lips.

Combeferre bit, chewed, swallowed. "No," he replied, tender. "No, it certainly is not."


	4. emotion thus aroused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt from strongbut:** 9\. things you said when i was crying

"It is no crime," murmured Enjolras, "to be moved, Combeferre," and he offered a handkerchief.

"Isn't it," said Combeferre, attempting dry humor; the effect was weakened by his sniffling. He removed his glasses to dab up the tears at his eyes, and settled back into his seat. "Oh, if Bahorel could see me now!"

"Of all men I know, I think it is Bahorel who is the least likely to criticize another man for displays of ardent emotion, particularly those aroused by tragedy."

Enjolras smiled in his eyes only; it was enough, however, to provide levity that Combeferre's tears might cease.

"Now, his opinion upon the _nature_ of the emotion thus aroused, I cannot say," Enjolras continued, although they both knew that Bahorel much preferred that the emotions aroused by tragic plays be of the enraged, destructive sort. "But he is not here, now, is he?"

It seemed ridiculous that Enjolras, who cared very little for drama and understood it even less, be comforting him over the death of a pretty love interest in an objectively pretentious and badly written piece of theatre. Combeferre shook his head 'no' with some amount of chagrin and replaced his spectacles.

"I shan't tell him you cried."

The gravity of his friend's words and the put-on stoniness of his expression was enough to eradicate any remaining sorrow Combeferre felt in his chest; he found himself laughing.

Shortly thereafter they were joined in the foyer by Courfeyrac, who had at the lowering of the curtain immediately jaunted off to chance a meeting with an actress of a minor personage, and they three each quitted the theatre together: Combeferre and Courfeyrac immediately in argument, Enjolras observing, contented by their presence.


	5. talents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt from fixaidea:** “I want you to be happy”

"...For his sake alone, I should hope they determine soon a course of action. I offered the assistance of the society, thinking perhaps we might bolster their progress; it was unaccepted. I mentioned a mutual aid society; they told me it would not be discrete enough. As though it would be published in a pamphlet! No man has the privilege of privacy with a friend in jail — their sect has been on watchlists for weeks by now, surely."

Enjolras hummed, and moved a pawn upon the board, which Combeferre promptly captured. Then he settled at their table with his chin upon his fist, and his eyes wandered, thinking.

He'd spent the day with some fledging republicans at Picpus who were, for what seemed to be the hundredth time, coming to terms with the fact that taking action in expression of one's political opinions was often accompanied by uncomfortable consequences.

"And for the sake of goodness, I hope they swallow their pride," he continued. "To be indecisive in a time like this. If I were the one in jail, I should be livid; I have heard no claim of refusing to post bail on principle. No! it is only that they cannot agree on the vehicle. Perhaps I am livid anyhow: I risk myself, also, and the society of the Friends of the ABC, in looking after their affairs."

"So be livid, then, for that is logical. The arrest is veritable, not notional."

Enjolras hovered his hands above his pieces — white was, after some minutes of play, less represented upon the board, but with Enjolras, chess was a game of quality more than quantity. Combeferre surveyed him and noticed the hint of a crease in his brow.

Then he surveyed the board and understood why.

"Oh," he said.

"You are distracted," replied Enjolras evenly. "Were this a genuine siege I suppose I should view it as an advantage, but a victory over an absentminded opponent brings me no satisfaction."

"An artilleryman does not wait to fire until the target is staring down his barrel, isn't that so? If we are playing to practise thinking strategically, you ought to best me again while you've the chance. "

Combeferre spoke of this as though it were a rarity, but Enjolras had had that chance for eight consecutive games. The round at present, of course, was their ninth.

He took his rector in hand and pushed it several squares aside, away from his knight; Combeferre huffed.

"Do not take pity on me."

"I've taken no such thing," said Enjolras. "Merely, I want you to be happy. In this and other endeavors: it dawns upon me that perhaps guiding our fellows at Picpus is not making the best use of your talents. Go on, then."

Combeferre made the move of his queen he had planned three turns ago, as Enjolras had paved him a path to do so. He was operating a defense; Enjolras had his few remaining pieces in a formation nigh unbeatable. For now, however, he had saved himself.

Then he realized he had counted three squares in a place where there were, in reality, but two.

"Check," said Enjolras, and in a fork which Combeferre ought to have realized was likely the moment he had set his fingers upon the rector, took his queen and king at once. "Long live the republic."

"Blast."

A hint of a smile showed at Enjolras's lips; he began to retrieve his pieces from Combeferre's end of the table. 

"You need not return there, if you do not wish it."

"I mind only that the risk I take is not fruitful."

Combeferre began to replace his pieces upon the board; Enjolras gave him a discerning look and nodded his head at their pocketwatches, laid side by side before the chess set.

"I'll best you someday," said Combeferre, and he touched Enjolras's forearm in indication before taking over the task of gathering up the game. As he did so, he added, "no, I shall continue until I am convinced of their allyship — that is to say, whether or not it exists. To ascertain their probity and judgement I must see to them myself, as I have done."

As Combeferre fastened the clasps of the gamecase, Enjolras replaced his pocketwatch in his waistcoat and stood; a moment later he had donned his own coat and was offering out Combeferre's. Combeferre rose.

"This cell of charcoal-makers, I suspect, will be better furnished for conflict."

"One might hope," replied Enjolras, and he held Combeferre's coat by the shoulders that he could better put his arms through. "I assume the provision of false names was mutual; what is more, the first house we are to visit is not the meetingplace. Promising: but I should expect nothing less of such a faction." 

Combeferre took his arm. "Shall we?"

Enjolras put on his hat, and they departed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: alternate point-of-view for a scene already written

“It appears,” said Enjolras, “that we have an audience.” In silence, but with a knowing smile, Combeferre peeled apart two segments of his sanguine orange and pressed one to Enjolras’s lips. 

The sight of the blush upon his cheeks was nearly as sweet as the orange itself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: chocolate

“It's… very sweet,” said Enjolras, but took another sip of the froth; meanwhile, Combeferre struggled to disassemble his makeshift moulinet.

“Given that I paid ten sous for the sugar,” he replied, after swiping his thumb upon the corner of Enjolras’s lips, “it had better be.”

Enjolras was mollified.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: hugs

“To bed,” repeated Combeferre, “one mustn’t confuse respite with sloth — the latter is a sin, the former a blessing, and a much needed blessing it is.” 

Enjolras slumped a little, and his head fell awkwardly to rest upon Combeferre’s shoulder. Combeferre wrapped his arms around his waist, minding the sling about his arm, and brought him gently to bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fever

“…like me, he had hoped to become an army doctor; well, he was sent forthwith on an expedition to Saint-Louis and to Waalo; this was also his last, for after a mere week he was discharged — owing to what I have not yet determined — and when he next set foot upon French soil, that is, _legitimate_ French soil, he was in the early throes of marsh fever.”

Enjolras cringed, but said nothing; in but a moment he had become very somber. Combeferre let their arms part, and they walked on in silence, for the anecdote about his cousin had not had quite its intended effect.

When they were nearer along to the cafe, however, Enjolras took his arm again, and said, in a sober, even tone, “do you still hope to become a military doctor,” and Combeferre felt a pang of loss: his desires for himself had evolved greatly in the previous years of his life.

“No,” he murmured, “no, I should think not. I enjoy very much the work with children, when it is — rewarding.”

“The children in Paris, at Enfants-malades.”

He understood.

“Indeed, the children in Paris. There is no risk of your losing a lieutenant to a naval crew for Senegal, Enjolras, mark my words.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: stay awake

“Two hours, and yet we all remain awake.”

“The barricade mended, the wounded in respite, and one can walk without stumbling upon debris,” replied Combeferre, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “But perhaps he will stumble upon his own feet in exhaustion. Nonetheless, all to be done has been accomplished without rest. Perhaps it was unnecessary counsel.”

“I expected it in excess.”

“ _Man shan’t live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth from the mouth._ After forty sleepless nights the devil might have offered a bed; the sentiment of Christ unaltered.”

“Apt, for neither have we bread.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It Is No Crime](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20376736) by [pelides](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelides/pseuds/pelides)




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